GNELFS (31 page)

The glimmer in his eyes as he continued to look at her confirmed the fact. Then, casually, he reached over and patted her leg.

"It will be all right," he said. "As long as you cooperate."

"What about Gab and Heaven?"

He was silent.

"What did they ever do to you, you bastard? Leave them alone."

"There are greater causes than the well-being of a few mortals," he said coolly. "I need them. It is as simple as that."

"And me? I'm a pawn too? Why should you be allowed to manipulate and hurt so many people?"

"The simple answer is because I can." He laughed, a cold, dry laugh. "The more complex answer is that I have suffered. I have always been construed as different. You're a psychologist. 'Alienation,' I believe, is the word you might apply."

If you want my sympathy you must know you won't get it. If you are aware of the scars, you must realize you should have sought help instead of hurting other people."

"You know things are not as simple as that. I'm addicted to power. I'm not responsible for my actions."

She felt contempt for him, for his self-examination and for his willful acts that harmed others, but her professional orientation stirred her to ask, "What happened to you?"

"It started when I was very young. I was a small boy, thin. Some things carry over. I became bookish since my mother feared I would be harmed by playing with other children. I could read before I started school, and subsequently I had more knowledge than the average child."

He seemed to grow more pale as memory tightened its grip on him. "The class bully seemed to zero in on me from the beginning of first grade. But he was a goddamn clever bastard—the teacher's favorite." He smiled. "You know the type, Doctor. You'd have a word for that too. His name was Mal James. He had one of those flattop haircuts. They weren't in then. He would do things, tell on me, pull various stunts to get me into trouble. The teacher always fell for them. I bumped into him once while a group of kids was playing. He went to the teacher and told her I had kicked him, and the fucking whore ranted and raved at me for five minutes. Five fucking minutes."

Althea gripped the steering wheel more tightly as the anger began to burn through him. She realized something was always simmering inside him, resentment, rage.

For a moment, just for a moment, she was almost touched even though she had seen the horrors he had caused.

"Another time, Mal grabbed me and choked me, held my throat until my face turned purple. It took me a while to catch my breath, but then I went to the teacher, expecting, since a kick on the playground had inspired such ire in her, the whore bitch would do something to him finally. I told her he had choked me, but she didn't look up from the papers she was grading. I repeated it, that he had choked me, and she ignored me.

"And Mal had other moments. The time he put a snake on me. The time he pulled my pants down. The bastard."

There were tears in Simon’s eyes now, angry hurt tears, the tears of a little boy who didn't quite fit in, a little boy thrown into a situation he didn't quite understand because he had no reference point for the contempt of peers or the pettiness of some people in positions of authority.

She bit her lip. She couldn't let him make her feel sorry for him. He was too dangerous. Maybe under other circumstances she could have helped him, but for now she had to view him as an enemy. She had to think of Gabrielle and Heaven.

His fist slammed down on the dashboard, the vibration jarring the plastic. His pale cast was gone, replaced by a red, twisted mask.

Slowly a smile formed again, however, and he sat back in the seat, smugness settling over his features.

"It took me a while to find Mal after I had begun to learn to manipulate the forces that lurk around us," he said. "He was working in California, but he had a job that required him to travel. I began to watch him, studying his actions. He had numbers he could call when he stopped in cities. The calls would bring women to his door.

"One night he was visited by a particularly beautiful one, a woman with hair of flame and a sensuality he had never known. When he lay with her, he thought he had never known such pleasure."

Simon's eyes almost seemed to glow. He wasn't talking to Althea. He was reliving something he had watched, savoring the memory.

"She fulfilled his desires in every way. Performed the acts he dreamed about, and he cried out with pleasure. Then, when it was over, she lay over him, kissing him, letting her mouth move down across his chest and stomach."

He did turn to Althea now. A spray of perspiration dappled his brow, and one drop slid down from his temple, trailing along his cheek. "Can you imagine what happened?"

Althea was suddenly very cold, chilled from the inside. She could not imagine how fear had seized the man, but she knew it had been horrible. She tried to swallow and found her throat had closed.

"Well?" Simon asked.

She licked her lips, but was still unable to produce much moisture. "Emasculation, I suppose."

"Emasculation?" He whispered his confirmation: "Yes. She closed her lips over him, over his man-root if you choose, then she bit down.

"He screamed, oh so loudly," the magician said, his voice now gleeful. "Then he saw two things. He saw her yank her head back, his genitals dangling from her lips, and before his eyes, the image of my face was projected by magic. He looked at me and, with terror in his eyes, knew why it was happening to him. He wept. Wept the way I wept on days after school when I went home suffering from his humiliations.

"I had never wanted to harm anyone, had been content to leave other people alone, but he spearheaded the effort that made me what I am. It was fitting that he should serve as an experiment, for I was just beginning to test my skills in those days." He laughed now, deep and hard. "I was good, so good, and I laughed at him because I knew then, for certain, that I had the power. And his blood served as a sacrifice to the demons of the night, and they became my brothers then. My servants, because I had delivered for them. They descended, and while he was alive, they feasted on his sinful soul. He cried out to God, but he had no redemption that night."

Althea found it hard to steer the car. The horror of what had happened was almost paralyzing. She kept picturing the scene in her mind, hearing the screams.

For the first time it became apparent just how dangerous this madman could be. He had caused horrible deaths, but he was capable of much greater cruelty and brutality.

She thought she was going to be sick, but he placed a hand on her forearm, gripping it tightly. She felt pain as the muscle was squeezed. It was like a lightning bolt shooting up her arm.

“You won't lose control," he said.

It was not a reassurance. It was just a warning that she would regret noncompliance.

She didn't want to submit to his control, didn't want to comply with any of his orders; but for now she would go along, waiting for an opportunity to resist.

~*~

Moving the brazier so that it would not topple off, Danube stooped beneath the platform. More fragments of brittle pages rested atop something silvery reflecting light.

He reached into the shadows and extracted it, a small bowl-like crafting of metal with symbols etched into its surface. He turned it over carefully, his fingertips tracing the markings he recognized as protective symbols. The discovery did nothing to ease the burning feelings that were gnawing away at him.

The holder of
The Red Book
would need a protective helmet. Danube had heard it mentioned in legend, how the conjurer wore the metal guard when reading from the pages.

"Did you ever see him wearing this?"

Martin looked down at the bowl. "Sometimes when he was studying his symbols. What is it?"

"A shield of sorts. it basically kept him from becoming a channel for the spirits before he was ready." He turned the cap around, displaying the markings. "These signs block spirits and demons."

Martin's mouth dropped open slightly.

“You did not realize the extent of all this," Danube said.

"Few people realize what they are opening the door to."

"I only wanted to scare her."

“She is scared," Danube said. "As am I."

At Katrina's insistence, Gabrielle took a long shower. When she had finished, she slipped on one of Katrina's nightgowns and lay down in the guest bedroom, where she managed to doze.

Heaven was resting, and Gab knew she, too, needed rest. She would not be able to support her daughter if her own condition deteriorated. Her nerves were starting to remind her of old rope, unraveling in all directions, but her mind shut out her anxieties for a while.

She even managed not to dream. Until Tanner showed up. At first, in thoughts detached from the dream, she wondered if her brain was offering up a vision of solace, a collage of might-have-
beens
to distract her from pain and anguish over Heaven's dire situation.

She wondered if pastoral scenes were going to unfold, bringing bittersweet non-memories of trips never taken and laughter never shared. Those were the kinds of things you woke up feeling both complacent and disturbed about, warmed by the pleasant feelings, tortured by the slap of reality, the reminder of how unreal the visions were.

When she saw the look on Tanner's face, she knew it was not that type of dream. He had not come to comfort her. He looked at her accusingly. Yes, this was to be a dream drenched in guilt, guilt trotted out from the Pandora's box of her subconscious.

She had come to know her psyche well in the months since the divorce. It had played games with the skeletons buried in the
boneyard
of her brain. She had dreamed of what the separation would do to Heaven, had been tortured over whether she was acting for herself without concern for her daughter's needs. Now she was about to suffer the blame for Tanner's death. Hadn't she caused it, after all? Wouldn't he be alive if she hadn't gone to hear him read? Perhaps she deserved whatever accusation his image offered.

Yet he did not point a finger and shout
J'accuse
.

He walked forward, a grim expression on the features she had thought so handsome. She waited for his mouth to open, for him to shout at her, curse her for costing him his life.

Instead, he spoke softly, even in the dream the words were almost lost as soon as they passed his lips. But Gabrielle heard them.

Continue to love.

Nothing ominous like
Beware the dark veil
. Just a simple suggestion of hope. She took comfort. Gabrielle knew she was not in contact with Tanner, knew his presence was not with her, but she also realized that in the brief time she had known him he had imparted a message. Her brain had captured that vibration and held onto it, interpreting it now to offer it back.

She woke up weeping. Her head, against the pillow, felt heavy, and tears slid across her face in soft, tickling streaks. She let the moisture ooze from her eyes for a while before sitting up and wiping at it with the sleeve of her borrowed gown.

She found Katrina sitting beside Heaven's bed.

Katrina's husband had taken the kids out to keep the house quiet, and she was reading as Heaven dozed, apparently peacefully. She lifted her index finger to her lips as Gab eased the door farther open. With exaggerated facial gestures and nods they communicated briefly, and Gab learned her daughter had been dozing for a while without any sign of disturbance. That was a relief. The child needed rest, for rest would help her recuperate or prepare for the next onslaught.

As Gab peered over at Heaven, she thought about the dream message. She would continue to love Heaven always, but was that what the dream had meant?

Perhaps it was a warning not to give in to hatred in spite of the anger simmering inside her. She had endured all of this for no reason other than some idiot's anger, yet she could not let hatred consume her. To give in to it was to be irrational, and she needed her wits, her courage.

Walking over, she knelt beside Katrina, squeezing her friend's forearm. Katrina smiled down and patted Gab's hand. Then, closing her eyes, she nodded in reassurance that things were going to be all right.

Gab prayed it was so.

~*~

At Simon's command, Althea turned her car into the driveway which wound around behind Martin's house. She recognized the neighborhood, and wondered what she might do to attract attention. A Lincoln was parked under the house's carport, and she thought about ramming it.

The sound would be minimal, as would the result, and might do no more than raise Simon's ire. She shoved the gearshift into PARK after braking to a stop.

"A wise decision," Simon said, letting her know he had detected her dilemma, either by clues from her movements or by reading her thoughts.

She kept looking straight ahead without responding. Laughing, Simon got out and took his staff and a package from the back seat, where he had placed them earlier. Then he walked around to Althea's door and opened it with a gallant sweep of his arm.